


In the Dark

by Castalie



Series: The Night [3]
Category: The Sentinel
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Prostitute, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Prostitution
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-04-25
Updated: 2011-04-25
Packaged: 2017-10-18 15:59:51
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,576
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/190596
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Castalie/pseuds/Castalie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>[Written in 2004] Just an interlude. Another glimpse at Jim and Blair's lives - or their nights in this particular case, when nightmares are lurking in dark corners.</p>
            </blockquote>





	In the Dark

In the silence of the room, the muffled sobs sounded like screams of agony to Jim's sensitive ears. His own body taut, his jaw clenched, he could do nothing but listen to his lover weep softly in his sleep. It was something Jim never got used to - no matter how long they'd been living together - these quiet tears shed by the man sleeping beside him. The tears ravaged his heart, as did the knowledge that Blair wasn't even conscious of them.

Jim had never seen Blair cry in front of him. He'd seen his lover in a myriad of emotional states - worried sick, upset, sad, furious, scared, and he'd occasionally appeared on the verge of losing it, after some very trying circumstances - but the younger man never allowed himself to break down into tears. He used other outlets - Blair didn't roll over and take shit from anyone - but he'd just never cried in front of Jim.

At least, not consciously. But sometimes, after Blair had dealt with something during the day that upset him, it would come back and haunt his nights. The trigger could be completely obvious, or an insignificant detail; either way, the effects battered both men. Fortunately, it didn't happen often; Blair was one of the most resilient persons Jim had met. But of all people, the ex-soldier knew that resilient didn't equal invulnerable, and no one escaped unscathed. There were times, when Blair was overwhelmed by painful souvenirs and hidden nightmares, that the tears would flow - quietly unheeded - as if Blair's pain was a veiled shadow, not to be seen or heard by anyone. But Jim saw, and Jim heard, and it killed him each time he was witness to his lover's silent grief.

The first time it had happened, Jim hadn't known what to do. He'd never encountered the heartbreaking, but oh so silent, evidence of pain and vulnerability his lover was displaying. He'd seen men break down in front of him, yelling or sobbing until they couldn't breathe anymore, lashing out at the first thing or person they found. In the army, and particularly in Black Ops, he'd seen the worst humanity had to offer, and sometimes it proved to be more than a man could stand.

He was familiar with that kind of extreme pain, knew how to respond. But Jim had felt helpless in the face of Blair's subdued anguish, shattered by seeing the man he loved crying in his sleep, so he'd awakened Blair that first time. His lover had gazed at him with heavy-lidded eyes, blinking in confusion. Then his hand had slowly found its way to his own wet cheeks. Blair hasn't shown surprise at the realization he'd been crying in his sleep. "It happens sometimes," he'd told Jim, then assured him that he didn't need to worry, it was nothing. But Blair had been unable to go back to sleep afterward, and the days that followed had taken a toll on him, while his nights were plagued by violent nightmares.

Jim had learned two things that night. First, that 'nothing' didn't mean shit when it came from Sandburg's mouth - which was pretty typical, whatever the situation. And second, that the best course of action was actually to let Blair cry without interrupting him, because it was evidently the catharsis he needed to cope with whatever nightmare his mind was remembering. So if that's how Blair needed to handle these attacks from his subconscious, letting him cry without waking him would be how _Jim_ handled them too, even if it killed him.

He would have preferred just to shake Blair awake and chase away the nightmares with a fucking kick in the ass. Jim was, before anything else, a man of action; passive responses didn't sit well. But, as he'd established during those early days, that would do more harm than good. So, with no other valid options, he'd learned to restrain himself, with a self-control he hadn't realized he possessed until after he'd met one Blair Sandburg.

Because Jim couldn't do 'nothing', he tried to content himself with cradling the sleeping-weeping Blair close to him, waiting for the quiet sobs to subside, for the breathing to become regular once more. He wouldn't let go the warm bundle in his arms all night.

He wasn't sure it made a difference; whether or not he was held, Blair would feel fine come the morning. But Jim couldn't help it; he needed to feel he was helping, needed the immediate reassurance that the crying was over, needed to extend comfort whether or not it was recognized. And when the day broke, Blair would seem a little subdued at first, but would return to his customary smart-ass self after a couple of hours, and Jim would forget about the night's activities... until the next time.

But there was another reason why Jim kept guard, why he held Blair close in protective arms. Sometimes, when the memories responsible for Blair's silent breakdown were too powerful, too overwhelming, his lover would wake in the middle of the night and need physical reassurance that he was safe. Jim kept vigil for those times in particular.

Jim sometimes took those mini-crises as a test of their resilience; when they passed, their life seemed to proceed more smoothly for a time, and Blair would somehow feel cleansed of whatever had plagued his mind prior to the nightmares. He never went into details as to what had provoked them in the first place. He trusted Jim completely with his demons - he'd shared almost all of them with his lover at one time or another in all their years together - but he considered it pointless.

Blair had once explained that he'd never be totally free of them, and he simply refused to give them power over him. He was at their mercy in the dark but, when daylight came, he chose to ignore them. Jim followed his lead, never pushing; turn about was fair play, and he was grateful to have Blair respect his own desire for privacy when he needed it.

As long as he was allowed near Blair, offering whatever support he could, it was at least bearable. Although there were times when his lover kept him at bay, that didn't extend to the nightmare times, and Jim was profoundly grateful. His nerves were shot to hell during the unconscious weeping; he needed the contact as much as Blair did.

Jim rolled on his side and manhandled Blair so that his back was nestled close to his front while the tense body continued to shake from the sobs. Jim let his hands caress the bare skin; it would soothe Blair without waking him.

Comfortably spooned behind his lover, his hands gliding over the soft skin - he'd shaved Blair himself just the day before - Jim couldn't help thinking of all the people in his lover's life who deserved a place in hell. He held each of them responsible for every single tear shed by the man in his arms. There was no point in dwelling in the past, and it was always better to let it go, but sometimes the _past_ refused to let go. Then again, there was nothing he could do to change anything, so he just sighed and softly nuzzled Blair's neck to soothe himself.

His mind drifted a bit, but his senses seemed to be all focused on Blair. He liked the feeling of being in tune with Blair this way. These out-of-whack senses of his were odd - sometimes a huge inconvenience, at other times a painful and frightening unknown entity - and they usually pissed him off. He didn't know why they tormented him, but he agreed that there were some wonderful advantages - and they weren't limited to making it possible to check on Blair and his johns while they were busy fucking him. No, the senses had some real and beautiful benefits, such as feeling a oneness with Blair even when he wasn't buried deep inside him. He was experiencing one of those moments right now.

After a while, he relaxed when he realized that Blair's heartbeat had resumed a normal rhythm, when he felt the body in his arms become almost limp after the tension - born from the crying - left Blair.

Still spooned together, Jim turned the body in front of him so he could have better access to his companion's face. He nuzzled Blair's cheeks, inhaling the saline scent clinging to and surrounding him, and lapped at them in tiny strokes, in the hope of erasing any physical evidence of Blair's anguish. It wasn't enough to banish the mental distress, but Jim knew how to accomplish that. He kissed the damp cheeks and showered Blair's face with butterfly kisses; at this stage of his leaving his nightmares behind, Blair needed peace and quiet.

"Jim?" came the soft voice, hoarse from both the sleep and the tears.

"Yeah. Everything is okay, Blair, shhh." Jim cuddled his lover even closer if it was possible; his naked body was in full contact with Blair's, leaving no space between them. The skin to skin feeling always grounded Blair when he awoke like this.

Blair sighed shakily, slowly surfacing from his disturbed sleep. He'd done it again. These silent tears often took him by surprise, and he never really knew what triggered them. Or more precisely, he knew perfectly well what the various triggers were, but he never knew _when_ he would fall victim to them.

Sometimes he'd have an unpleasant incident and his nights would remain peaceful. Other times, a word, a voice, a detail would come back to haunt him. There was no way of knowing for sure, but he speculated that it was a matter of whether or not he was prepared.

Maybe he unconsciously kept his guard up when he knew nightmares were bound to lurk in a dark corner of his psyche, and it sufficed to stop them from invading his sleep. On the other hand, events that seemed insignificant weren't enough to persuade his mind to raise the barriers, and he became vulnerable to whatever his battered subconscious would dish out. But even though the theory made sense, Blair couldn't be sure of exactly what triggered what. Sometimes it seemed that things were just too much, period. He usually thought he was strong enough to keep everything under control - but failure was a huge part of life after all, so sometimes he was bound to fail at controlling his dreams.

He'd been subject to these 'attacks', as he called them, as far back as he could remember, and he'd resigned himself a long time ago to never being free of them. Even his relationship with Jim hadn't helped conquer them - and if Jim had been unable to do that, he was certain that nothing ever would.

Blair had to accept this blatant evidence of weakness; it was part of him, so be it - though Jim would spank his ass if he heard him talk like that. But truthfully, Blair had realized many years ago that the attacks were somewhat helpful. They cleared his mind for a certain period of time and, even though he knew it was never permanent, the reprieve was just wonderful. So Blair, always the pragmatist, recognized their benefit. He still didn't like it, but he understood they were a necessary evil.

He'd also found out the attacks weren't so frightening now that he had Jim. No longer did he wake up alone in the dark, no longer did he have to wait, isolated and disoriented, for the coldness inside him to fade. Jim was here to warm him each time.

Blair took a deep breath and slid a hand to Jim's arm where it encircled his waist. With his hand still shaking slightly, Blair grasped Jim's, entwining his fingers with his lover's.

"How do you feel?" Jim asked softly. He knew the answer, of course; this too, was another of their rituals.

"Empty," came the inevitable reply.

Jim kissed the warm neck presented to him before rolling Blair on his stomach. As his hands reached for the nightstand where the lube was, he whispered the words Blair was expecting. "I'll fill you up, baby. You won't know empty anymore tonight." He licked the bent neck and swiftly opened the tube and coated himself. He then probed at Blair's opening and felt it relaxed already; Blair was pliant and waiting for him. Jim positioned himself and slowly entered him.

He took his time filling the body beneath him; he wanted Blair to feel himself be slowly opened, wanted his lover to feel every inch of his cock stretching him at an almost excruciatingly unhurried pace. Jim wanted to fill Blair's body, but that wouldn't be enough. He intended to fill Blair in a way no one ever did - wanted his lover to know there wasn't an inch of him that Jim didn't touch, didn't know, didn't love. Jim invaded every pore of Blair's skin, he was every breath the young man took, every molecule of the blood running in his veins.

His thrusts were slow. Blair rocked gently, following the leisurely rhythm. They wouldn't be rushed; these times weren't about reaching climax at all cost, they were about the strength and depth of their connection, relishing it and extending it as long as possible.

Jim shifted a bit and adjusted Blair so that they rested more on their sides. He had better access to his lover's mouth in this position and he took possession of it, his tongue following his cock's thrusting movements. He didn't know whether the moans and whimpers he heard were Blair's or his own, and he couldn't care less. He kissed Blair for what seemed hours, then abandoned his mouth and rested his head on Blair's shoulder. He lapped at the enticing neck and maintained his maddeningly slow pace while he impaled the body in front of him.

Blair threw his head back and repeated Jim's name in a mantra-like rhythm, his eyes tightly closed. He wanted to focus on the feel and sound of his lover thrusting into him in this slow dance. He was no longer cold, no longer empty - Jim was everywhere.

After what seemed like an eternity of slow fucking, Blair's climax was sweet and languorous, Jim's quiet and powerful. He rested a few moments, then pulled out of Blair and quietly padded to the bathroom. He quickly washed himself, then carried the washcloth to Blair and gently tended to him.

Without a word, Jim went back to bed and resumed his position, spooned around Blair, unwilling to sever the connection so soon after what they shared. He cupped Blair's genitals and roamed his fingers along the bare skin, enjoying the smoothness. His touch wasn't meant to arouse this time; he just liked caressing Blair so intimately, and he smiled to himself when he got no reaction at all from his lover. Blair was already drowsing back to sleep, peaceful and sated; there was an aura of contentment surrounding him, and Jim basked in it.

Jim might not be able to prevent the nightmares from plaguing Blair’s sleep, but he could effectively chase away any reminder of them. Sometimes it was just a matter of choosing his own battles. And if the spoils of war were the sated, sleeping body in his arms, he was willing to fight for the rest of his life.

Fin


End file.
